Make It Dirty

We fuck because we are fucked. We feel fucked over. Raw. Fucking angry. “Dirty,” she said. One word and a look. Her head tilted slightly down, her eyes looking up at me to make me feel taller. These are not conscious or practiced moments. Everything is instinct.

We had just left a party we were anxious to ditch. A work party. Mostly straight people. Bad appetizers and shitty rum drinks. No one on the dance floor. We left after wandering around and chatting with enough people to be polite. I don’t think we stayed more than half an hour. I hate small talk. I get jumpy. Thank god we didn’t have to stay longer. I never like straight parties, but right now, with the tragedy of the election, I really can’t stand to be in a room full of people like that. White, rich, entitled, and wanting to care about what’s going on but enjoying the comfortable assurance that it doesn’t really affect them. They don’t feel the damage and all the fucked up bullshit that so many of us do. I was angry walking out of there. Hurt and angry.

“Let’s go,” she said and I grabbed her arm as we headed out the door. I felt her move towards the car as we neared it but I tightened my grip and kept walking. I was heading towards the water, the graffiti, the warehouses. I walked quickly, silent, wanting to be in the dark, wanting brick and not this shiny glass and steel that surrounded us. I stopped where it was dark enough, quiet enough. We slipped between two buildings. I put her hands against the wall.

Power. Give me the power in this moment. Let me be bigger, stronger, more capable. Let me position you and shove your legs open with my knee. Let me be in control now, baby. Give it to me.

hot girl in a fuzzy coatShe’s wearing a fuzzy jacket that I like to pet with my fingers. Her hair is newly cut short, almost too short for me to grab, it slips through my fingers. I want her scalp to come alive and feel me. I pull and tug. She moans and closes her eyes. Her head falls back into my grip. I hold her still, my left arm crooked behind her back, holding her hair while my other hand pets her slowly. I start with my fingertips on her forehead and slowly drag my hand across her face, teasing her lips, scratching a bit at her neck, tracing her collar bone, sliding over and down her tits, grabbing at her belly, shifting over to her hips, her thighs, between her legs, to her ass. “Baby,” I mouth the word into her ear, barely breathing. “Make it dirty,” she tells me.

I slipped my hand under her skirt and pulled the tight fabric over her ass. I pushed her feet further apart. “Back your ass up against me,” I said and pushed my hand between her legs, “Piss on my fingers.”

I waited. I traced a finger against her lace panties, “Soak them,” I said. I felt her hot piss on my cold skin. I heard it splash against the sidewalk. Pulling her panties to the side, I let her feel my hand in the wet stream. I stood behind her, looking down at her heels, my shoes, her bare legs, my trousers, the growing puddle of piss beneath us.

I thought about how cold her cunt must feel. Wet in this cold air. I rubbed my hand inside her thighs, painting her with piss. I wanted her skin to pick up the cold air like an antenna. I wanted to feel her shudder with cold. I kissed her ass and pinched the soft, sweet flesh. Pinching the backs her thighs. Twisting her skin in my fingers until I heard her softly wince.

I pulled her wet panties down to her knees and dragged the back of my hand up inside her thigh until I felt her wet hole and shoved three fingers inside her. I fucked her hard, quickly pumping in and out of her. I bit her ass with quick little nips of my teeth. My fingers. My hands. My mouth. My teeth. That’s all I wanted her to feel of me. Feel me on your ass, your thighs, inside your hole. I wanted her to feel the piss on her legs and the cold brick building that steadied her and feel herself being fucked.

“I’m not going to make you come,” I said, “I want to watch you.” I pulled out of her and grabbed her neck with my wet fingers. “Show me how dirty you are,” I said quietly, “I’m going to hold you still like this while you touch yourself.” I watched her lift a hand off the wall and twist it at the wrist. She was cold and stiff. “Warm your fingers in you mouth,” I said and a hot desire ripped through me as I watched her suck one finger and then another. Slowly. Teasing me. Showing me. My mouth was open. Wanting to taste her. “Do it, baby,” I said, trying to sound demanding but knowing it came out like a plea.

With her fingers warmed, she started to jerk off. I kept my hand on her neck and pushed against her ass. She came before I was ready, before I wanted it to end. “Again,” I said and she nodded. “Again,” she said.

She came two more times before we stepped back to the sidewalk. I pulled her piss soaked panties all the way off before we walked away and carried them hanging from my fingers. They were gone by the time we got to the car. I’d dropped them somewhere and hadn’t noticed with my cold, stiff fingers. “Your panties are gone,” I said, opening the door for her. She just smiled at me. Pleased.

She held her hand on my thigh while I drove us home, petting me. I love the dreamy feeling that comes. We held that dream the whole drive. Held it when we got inside. “Come to bed dirty,” I said. She undressed and climbed under the covers with me. It was a good feeling.

Pretty

Sticky hot night in Oakland

It’s sticky hot in Oakland tonight but I’m remembering colder weather. A thick fog rolling in over the hills and wet, grey air calling us out onto the deck just before dusk. We’re enveloped in it. A cloud cover all our own. Relieved to be hidden from the nagging neighbors and their constant annoyance at our late night drinks with friends and loud laughter.

My hands reach around her as soon as we’re on the deck. I find her buttons and pull, one by one, slipping them out of their tight little button holes, finding her belly under the stiff cotton of her shirt. Not satisfied, not stopping, my fingers slide into her jeans and one hand moves between her shoulder blades. I bend her towards the deck railing. “Grab it,” I say and her arms steady herself against the wet wood.

I shove my hand between her legs, leaving her soft panties between my fingers and her pussy. I feel the stiff pricking of her short, trimmed pubic hair through the satin.

Holding her like this, seeing her bent over in front of me, my pants get tight. I shove myself up against her ass. I grab at her tits through her bra, pulling and twisting the fabric out of my way. I grab her with rough hands. Squeeze her between my fingers. I rub my hand against her panties until her pussy and my fingers are wet.

“Breathe,” I say out loud. This is for me. For me to remember to breathe and not suck it all in and hold tight and pass out. I have to be reminded to let go or I stay tight. Sucked in. Stiff. Red faced. I’m a balloon about to pop. I have to remember to vibrate and bend just enough to relax into this.

“Let me fuck you,” I say into the back of her neck. My hands undo her jeans and roll them down her thighs. I feel how strong she is and the contrast of thick muscle against her soft skin. I rub the backs of her thighs and slap her ass as I move my hands up and down, up and down. Slap. “Let me fuck you,” I say without needing to. She always lets me fuck her. She tells me all the time. She says, “Do whatever you want.” She taunts me with it when I’m lazy, “You know you can fuck me whenever you want, right?,” she says, “How does that feel?”

“Let me fuck you,” I say a third time and slap her ass hard. “Do it already,” she cries. My fingers are inside her before she shuts up. “Fuck you,” I say, “You act like you don’t care.” I wrap one arm around her to hold on while I slam my fingers inside her as hard as I can and I keep right on talking. “You act like a whore, never caring what I do to you. Like you can take it or leave it. Like you can get it anywhere, anytime you want.” I stop for a moment. Her breathing is hard and I can feel her legs shake, maybe from the cold, maybe the rush of a quick, angry fuck.

I twist and feel myself inside her. Let it build. Build to a strong, hard fuck. “It’s true. You can, baby. You can get it anytime you want. You can get it from anyone. You can throw your legs open and let them fuck you. Drunk. Stumbling to the bedroom. Stumbling to get on top of you. Fumbling with their almost hard dicks in their hands. You can get them with that flash of your ass or your tits. They can smell your pussy from across the bar, right? Did they see you bend over to pick up the dropped quarters before you put your money in the jukebox?”

I shove myself inside her hard. Harder than before but slower, with more intent and a steady rhythm. “You can get it, baby. Anytime. You can have that. But it’s not what you want.” Slower. “I know you, baby.” My thumb brushes against her clit.  “You like it pretty.” I press my lips against her back. “You like it pretty and you hate yourself for it.” I kiss her back. “You move your hips against me and I know how good you feel.” I hold her tight. My fingers inside her and my thumb rubbing her clit. We’re so wet between us. I can feel our sweat and the chill of the fog all around us. She pushes against my fingers. I hold her and let her ride against my hand.

“You’ve got to be quiet,” I whisper and her moan rises up from low in her belly. “Be quiet, baby,” I hush. She rides. We are twisted together. I hold on tight and whisper sweet things to her. “Come for me,” I sigh, “You’re my girl.”

She shudders so sweetly.

My girl.

I can do whatever I want to her. She let’s me fuck her.

Fortune Teller

“It’s hot as fuck,” she whined. The windows were thrown open wide and the fans rattled on high but there was no relief. Hot air blew over the bed like an insult. The damn heat pissed us off. Ice melted in the glass before I could walk from the kitchen to the bedroom with a cold glass of water. Everything felt wrong, but I’d missed her too much all week to hold back.

I’d been alone the night before and fell asleep before she made it home around 2am. She was up and gone again at dawn. I’d wanted to fuck her as soon as she got home this afternoon but the heat was too much. Too sticky.

We read in bed together, not talking, trying to enjoy the calm. One or the other would get up for more water. I couldn’t relax next to her. She was stripped down to her bra and panties, lying there on her belly. Every page she turned distracted me. She kicked her feet up behind her and I’d stare at the backs of her thighs, her calves. Damn, this girl. She always turned me on. No matter what was going on, I wanted her.

I wanted to fuck. I was angry. I was hot and tired. She was oblivious and way too sexy.

I tried to be still. I tried to read but kept going back over the same sentence again and again. There were her feet, kicking. There was her belly as she rolled over and out of bed for another glass of water. “You’re mine,” I whispered as she crawled back into bed. “Always,” she replied and rolled her eyes. Her smart mouth. Her attitude. It was hard to tell when she was serious. She could be a brat and I fell for it every time. Hard.

“It’s too hot to fuck,” I said. She didn’t bother with a reply, just turned another page and sighed. This is what gets me. I cannot stand being ignored. I can’t stand the desire rising up in me with nowhere to go. She loves this. She watches it build. Some nights she can’t wait for my anger and prompts me. “Use me, baby,” she’ll say, “do anything you want.” Tonight I bit.

“You’re mine,” I said and crawled over her. I felt the sweat on my thighs as I straddled her ass. I grabbed her hair in one fist and jammed my other hand between my legs. “You know what I like,” she said. Her mouth stayed open. I watched her lower lip quiver. I shoved her head harder against the mattress. “Fuck you,” I managed, intending a stream of insults to follow, but I was going to come too fast. She knew it and laughed. “Fuck you,” I said and curled over her like a fortune telling fish.

She laughed louder now. Laughed harder as I smashed against her. Laughed at my struggle to shove her further beneath me while I jerked off. Passion is passion. Anger, love, jealousy. Everything was mixed together in this moment, but it was jealousy I felt most. The jealousy rushing through me wasn’t angry. I wasn’t nursing a wound or some slight. It wasn’t the thought that she wanted someone else. I felt jealous of her easy way. The book she held. Her ability to turn away from me and think of something else for even a moment. I was consumed. I wanted her always. Now. In this heat. Always.

I heard myself scream before I felt the pleasure of it. Coming. Coming on top of her. Holding her down. Wrapped around her. Her lazy laugh floating in the room. “Oh baby,” she sighed. It took me losing all control for her to give me that glimpse of herself, her sweetness, her relief in seeing me exposed.

I fell asleep after that and slept for hours, a deep sleep I hadn’t felt all through the long, hot summer. “You’re mine,” I said when I opened my eyes. The room was pitch black. I felt for her next to me. “Mine,” I said and grabbed her. She rolled over and pet my face. “I’m all yours,” she said, “Tell me what you want.”

A Dirty Bathroom Floor

It started after a break up. I’d been with my girlfriend for three years. Too long. Too young to have been tied down like that. I was sick of romance and sweetness and boredom. I’d been sick of it for at least a third of our relationship but I was too lazy to break up with her. She dumped me. Left me for her boss at a temp job. A lawyer twenty-two years older than her. They were perfect together. Baking chickens on Sunday nights. Going to see free concerts in the park. She started wearing scarves with thin sweaters and dangly earrings.

I saw her a few months after she left me and I almost didn’t recognize her. She looked like a straight-ish version of herself. She looked at me like I was filthy. I saw the shock in her face. I probably smelled bad. I hadn’t showered in a few days and it was a hot summer. My hair would have been sticking up all over except where it was still smashed flat from the pillow. My uniform that summer was jean shorts, heavy boots, and a white v-neck. I had a new tattoo. She noticed that right away. On my neck. She frowned as she pointed her finger towards it. “Why did you do that?” she asked. “You sound like my mom,” I answered. And that was the end of that encounter.

I’d gotten the tattoo on my neck just to be ratty. I wanted to make the decision right then not to be a good girl. Ever. That seemed an easy way to do it. I was lazy about everything except fucking.

After she left me, all I wanted to do was fuck. I asked girls out all the time. I asked girls out on the subway, at the library, online, at the market. I liked meeting early for a drink. Early enough to salvage the evening if things didn’t work out. And things usually didn’t work out. No one likes desperation. Not on a date. Not like that. I realized I was doing it all wrong. I wasn’t looking for a girlfriend. It was dirtier than that. Shallow.

I was out with a girl I’d fucked a couple weeks ago. She’d texted saying she was out at a bar near my place. I’d thrown on shoes, grabbed my wallet, and headed out to get laid. I liked the bar. They had bowls of pretzels which no one else seemed to touch but I always need to put something in my stomach while I drink. Plus it gives me something to do with my hands that isn’t smoking. The bar was a total dive. The kind of bar where people bring their dogs in halfway through a morning walk to have a quick drink. Enough dykes in the place to make it friendly but not an exclusively queer bar so I didn’t worry too much about running into people I didn’t want to see.

I was excited about fucking and felt pretty cocky about it. I’d already fucked this girl a few weeks ago, she texted me to come have a drink, it seemed clear we were going to fuck. I like that feeling when I’m in a bar. I like a sure thing. I ordered another old fashioned and grimaced at the sweetness. Why do I order cocktails when I always find the sweetness cloying? I drank and flirted. Looked cool. Fingered my new tattoo. Scratched the back of my neck. I wiped crumbs off my thighs.

I barely paid attention to anything going on. I drank. I drank too much. I smiled and threw looks around the room. She was talking about a friend of hers. I nodded and smiled and cooed at the right moments. We were two birds sitting on a wire. Half enjoying each other’s company and half waiting for something better to come along.

I stood up to take a piss and nearly toppled over. Too much to drink. Way too much to drink. “I’m coming with you,” she said and I grinned because I am the kind of girl who wants that quick fuck in the dive bar bathroom. Or anywhere. I will take that quick fuck in the middle of the dance floor with an arm snaked around me and a hand jammed into my jeans. I will head down the alley or into the backseat. I don’t need a cock. Fingers are best for that quick fuck. Fingers we can both feel.

She grabbed my head inside the bathroom. The fluorescent light flickered and made me squint and rub my eyes. “It’s too bright in here,” I whined. She shoved me towards the sink. “Take your shirt off and pull your pants down,” she said and I tried to turn around but she grabbed my wrist. “Hey,” I said, “I’m going to fuck you,” in a poor attempt to tilt the dynamic with one sloppy, drunk sentence. She clicked her tongue and laughed. “You’re not going to touch me,” she said, “Fuck yourself.”

I jerked my head to look behind me. She backed away. I remembered how badly I had to pee, but it could wait. I lifted my shirt up over my head and hung it on the doorknob. I turned around, unbuckled my belt, and pulled my pants down. “Stop there,” she said before I reached my knees. “Get down on the floor. On your back,” she said. I didn’t even stop to look down. I dropped fast and felt the wet dirt on my ass. I kept my head lifted for a few seconds but let it fall with a relief that soaked deep inside my bones. There was piss all around me. In my hair. My fingers pulled at my clit. I had my knees bent, falling open as wide as my pulled down jeans allowed.

She crept closer to me and kicked at my boot. She walked around me with a look of minor shock on her face. I stared up at her as I jerked off. My clit felt good but sleepy. The booze slowed everything down. I felt capable of reading her mind. Her thoughts were so real inside me. She hadn’t expected me to actually do it. She’d expected a struggle, a playful tug of war with one of us ending up bent over the sink. But here I was down on the ground laying in this stink and filth with my hands between my legs. She liked the power of it. She liked how the words came out of her mouth and I obeyed. She was already on to the next time. Thinking what else she might command. “Hey,” I yelled up at her. We stared into each other’s eyes. Nothing else was said. I came with my head lifted. My muscles tight. I rolled over and stood up with the words “I’ll do it” falling out of my mouth too low for her to hear.

I pulled my shirt back over my head and felt it stick in places against my back. I pissed before pulling my jeans back up. She stood against the door with a blank look on her face. I washed my hands in cold water and wiped them on my jeans. I kissed her hard on the mouth before opening the door and tumbling back into the bar.